XOXOXO muthafuckas.
I'm the only femme who can escape utter annihilation by said patriarchy and attach C-4 to the inside of your tires as you're parked outside the whorehouse.
Life is a cabaret of broken dreams.
I will tell you tales of lust and agony that will make you bite your lip to the point of bleeding and shiver while I pour you chianti in fishnets.
Stop, drop, and die.
I am the only one that means anything and I am the last. Protect you? Fuck me.
It was God that was born from nothing and God who returned to nothing, correct? Am I God?
What happened when a man gave all of himself and tried to spread a message of love? He was murdered. Murdered. But he lived on in a thousand hymns. My bedsheets smell like Myrrh. Three wise men told me to shut the fuck up at my birth.
And I do care. And Chanel's Allure is a lovely scent. And the world is a bad bad place for a little girl, filled with shame and child molestors. Filled.
I want to change it, I want to change it, but how can I prove myself to the world if I can't prove myself to one person, how can I save the planet if I can't save myself?
Our Father who art in heaven...why have you forsaken me? I see nothing left and I know, truly, that nobody cares about soft-heartedness in the world anymore. About tradition. The people care about fast times and hot pants, not passionate hearts and The Truth.
Truth is an abstraction, i'm sorry i've dabbled in it. Sorry to the point of rage.
God, you are cruel to me. You have never favored the girl threatened and silenced since birth. You favor girls prettier and more vacant than I am. So many. But maybe you do find me vacant?
Maybe you find me to be a pretty girl?
Then if so, where is my absolvance, where is my release? God, god, god, if only I could tell you things you would actually listen to me for, you never listened to me when I was hurt and abandoned and thought my parents would never call for me back from Overland Park, Kansas. That I was a bad girl and they had sent me there because they wanted a new one.
Do they want a new one? Do you? Do I?
I think I do.
But I was a strong and beautiful little girl, then. To survive 1/3rd of a year when my parents sent me away with no explanation. When my mother put me on an airplane with a teddy bear and a box of Kleenex for the runny nose. "Grandma, I miss my mommy, why don't they want to see me anymore? I am lonely and have only a squirrel to talk to. Will you tell me a story so I can go to sleep? My eyes hurt from crying."
God, my eyes BURN from crying. And if you can give me an answer, please click on the contact field of my profile on suicidegirls.com and tell me. Tell me why. Tell me why I always have to be the one on that side of the courtyard and why those beautiful girls force me to play the maid when we play house. Boys with money make the rules, Girls with beauty do so in turn.
I will not play the maid. I will burn down the house.
Catholicism? Nihilism?
I'm not sure what to believe, but there is more evidence for one than the other.
I'm the only femme who can escape utter annihilation by said patriarchy and attach C-4 to the inside of your tires as you're parked outside the whorehouse.
Life is a cabaret of broken dreams.
I will tell you tales of lust and agony that will make you bite your lip to the point of bleeding and shiver while I pour you chianti in fishnets.
Stop, drop, and die.
I am the only one that means anything and I am the last. Protect you? Fuck me.
It was God that was born from nothing and God who returned to nothing, correct? Am I God?
What happened when a man gave all of himself and tried to spread a message of love? He was murdered. Murdered. But he lived on in a thousand hymns. My bedsheets smell like Myrrh. Three wise men told me to shut the fuck up at my birth.
And I do care. And Chanel's Allure is a lovely scent. And the world is a bad bad place for a little girl, filled with shame and child molestors. Filled.
I want to change it, I want to change it, but how can I prove myself to the world if I can't prove myself to one person, how can I save the planet if I can't save myself?
Our Father who art in heaven...why have you forsaken me? I see nothing left and I know, truly, that nobody cares about soft-heartedness in the world anymore. About tradition. The people care about fast times and hot pants, not passionate hearts and The Truth.
Truth is an abstraction, i'm sorry i've dabbled in it. Sorry to the point of rage.
God, you are cruel to me. You have never favored the girl threatened and silenced since birth. You favor girls prettier and more vacant than I am. So many. But maybe you do find me vacant?
Maybe you find me to be a pretty girl?
Then if so, where is my absolvance, where is my release? God, god, god, if only I could tell you things you would actually listen to me for, you never listened to me when I was hurt and abandoned and thought my parents would never call for me back from Overland Park, Kansas. That I was a bad girl and they had sent me there because they wanted a new one.
Do they want a new one? Do you? Do I?
I think I do.
But I was a strong and beautiful little girl, then. To survive 1/3rd of a year when my parents sent me away with no explanation. When my mother put me on an airplane with a teddy bear and a box of Kleenex for the runny nose. "Grandma, I miss my mommy, why don't they want to see me anymore? I am lonely and have only a squirrel to talk to. Will you tell me a story so I can go to sleep? My eyes hurt from crying."
God, my eyes BURN from crying. And if you can give me an answer, please click on the contact field of my profile on suicidegirls.com and tell me. Tell me why. Tell me why I always have to be the one on that side of the courtyard and why those beautiful girls force me to play the maid when we play house. Boys with money make the rules, Girls with beauty do so in turn.
I will not play the maid. I will burn down the house.
Catholicism? Nihilism?
I'm not sure what to believe, but there is more evidence for one than the other.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Sigh. All life's a stage play.